


A New Dawn

by adamwhatareyouevendoing



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Guilt, M/M, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 13:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20154091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamwhatareyouevendoing/pseuds/adamwhatareyouevendoing
Summary: “Hey, boss,” Anthony says simply, as though it has cost nothing for him to saunter in here—as though it is allowed.Companion piece to 3x01 'Liberty'.





	A New Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Feeling Good](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ff-0pHwyQ1g) by Nina Simone, because honestly, what could be more iconic than Anthony just swanning in and taking the money and diamonds while it played in the background? Well, that and a dinner date.

For one wild moment, Elias is convinced that he is hallucinating—that he has spent too long lurking down in this basement and it is only his fevered brain conjuring the sight of the one person he most wants to see walking through the doorway.

Then Anthony’s lips quirk into that familiar smirk, the lines around his eyes crinkling with warmth. He looks—healthy; wonderfully and terribly _alive_. A lesser man might sink to his knees with relief.

“Hey, boss,” Anthony says simply, as though it has cost nothing for him to saunter in here—as though it is _allowed_.

“You,” Elias breathes, the unspoken question hanging in the air between them. The disbelief must be plain on his face, but he does not spare a moment to be ashamed of what it reveals. Anthony knows his weaknesses—knows them, and shares them.

“It’s me,” Anthony says. There is no judgment in his tone. He is imparting a fact, that is all, in the same clipped manner that he provides every report. Swift, assuring.

It should be wrong, seeing Anthony here. When he and Detective Carter had made their deal, it had been on the strict understanding that none of Elias’s men would attempt to find him, in exchange for knowing that he was alive. Elias had only agreed to it in a darkened hospital room, with Anthony still lying unconscious and heavily bandaged between them. Exchanging one prison for another had seemed a small sacrifice to ensure Anthony’s safety.

After that, Carter had not questioned that he would keep his word—yet it is easier for him to remain here now that Anthony has found him.

The pounding of his heart finally quietens, settling in his chest along with an unfamiliar ache of surprise and gratitude. Meticulously planned strategy leaves little space for either. On a rare occasion, it pays not to be countless moves ahead.

Elias gestures to the chair on his right. “Come here,” he says, and almost manages to make it sound like a command.

Anthony complies easily, readily, ever the faithful lieutenant—sliding into the seat and managing to look immediately at home despite the unwelcoming location. He holds out a plastic bag that had gone unnoticed until now, raising an eyebrow in expectation. “I took the liberty of stopping off and picking up your favourite.”

Elias takes the bag from him, drawing the bottle of Barolo out from where it is wedged next to the food containers with a barely concealed sigh of satisfaction. A smile creeps onto Anthony’s face—the one he gives when he is conscious of having pleased.

“I thought we could celebrate your release, properly,” he murmurs, gaze dropping momentarily to the table. “I realise it’s a little delayed. Sorry I couldn’t be there at the time,” he adds, too tightly to sound like a joke.

Now is not the time for Elias to impart his feelings on that matter, not with one of Carter’s guards behind them, within earshot, but he fetches the items to lay the table—tablecloth, full glassware, bread basket; as though they are at an establishment he would be proud to frequent, rather than a dingy cellar—hoping that it is enough for Anthony to understand that he is not avoiding the conversation entirely, only delaying it.

_Later_, he says, by decanting the wine and passing over a glass, allowing their fingers to brush around the stem.

* * *

They are interrupted by the arrival of Detective Carter, mid-way through the meal. Anthony tenses next to him, imperceptible to anyone but Elias.

“Play nice,” Elias mutters under his breath, using the pretence of wiping his mouth on his napkin.

Carter may be the reason he was imprisoned in the first place, but without her, he would not have made it out of the woods alive. Not that Anthony needs reminding of that fact. His lips purse unhappily, but Elias knows he will not disobey an order.

The detective does not seem surprised to find Anthony here—does no more than glare at him when she mentions that he has been seen in Crown Heights. She seems only to be warning him away from Russian territory, not Elias.

“Give us a moment, alone,” Elias says, and Anthony angles his body carefully towards him, a question and answer exchanged in a single glance.

Then he rises from his chair, crowding deliberately into Carter’s space. Elias watches the detective’s resolute expression flicker slightly, a hint of wariness in the brief narrowing of her eyes.

“Thank you—for helping my boss,” Anthony says, and it sounds genuine even to Elias’s ears.

Because it _is_, he realises, in a sharp moment of clarity. If it is a fact that Elias can rest easier knowing that Anthony is safe, then the converse is also true.

Anthony is here only because Carter has allowed it, and has chosen to give them that assurance.

* * *

“Alright, boss?” Anthony asks, re-entering the room once Carter has taken her exit.

Elias nods, waiting until Anthony is seated once more to elaborate. “I’m afraid the rest of our evening will have to wait. You have business to attend to,” he says, not bothering to lower his voice.

It is all but impossible not to be overheard by the guard behind them—nothing above a whisper can go unheard in the cavernous silence of the room. Only the small alcove in which Elias sleeps allows any semblance of privacy.

He presses on regardless. If Carter wanted him to stay away, she shouldn’t have come to him with such enticing information.

Anthony listens intently, taking in every detail as Elias outlines the operation. It is no more than Elias expects from his most trusted lieutenant. He only allows a smile to curve at his lips when Elias has finished.

“Money and diamonds,” he whistles, low. “You really know how to treat a guy.” There is a familiar glint in his eyes.

“And no heroics,” Elias stresses, using his steeliest tone. Even the mere thought of Anthony being caught in the crossfire tonight is enough to bring his cold anger over the shooting to boil in his veins.

He will have to work harder on suppressing that. In order to operate effectively, to achieve everything he desires, he cannot allow himself to become distracted. Anger is the enemy of reason, of logic. To allow anger to linger is to invite defeat. For now, he digs his fingernails into his palms and forces himself to breathe.

“If all goes to plan, there should be no need to put yourself in harm’s way,” he makes himself say, detached from the emotion behind it. “Don’t be tempted.”

It comes out as an order, as calm and clear as any he has given.

“Yes, boss,” Anthony says. His chair scrapes a little against the concrete floor as he stands. “Low profile, got it.”

* * *

The passage of time in this godforsaken basement feels even slower than those dragging hours Elias spent in Rikers. There, at least, the prisoners were allowed out into the yard each day. And, of course, he had the regular visits from Harold to look forward to.

Here, there is nothing but the changing of the security team every twelve hours to mark the days, and nothing to do but plan a myriad of ways to bring down HR and the Russians, should Carter ever take him up on his offer.

Now, at last, he has Anthony—the one constant in every place he has spent time in his adult life, and in most of his childhood.

The guards on the night shift have already been in position outside the main door for a while, perhaps a couple of hours, by the time Anthony returns. Elias hears him immediately—it would take more than two inches of steel for him not to pick out Anthony’s voice among those in conversation outside.

There is only a brief delay. Elias has no sooner risen to his feet across the room before the door slides open, revealing Anthony once more to his gaze.

“Hey, boss,” Anthony murmurs, a triumphant smile already flirting at the corners of his mouth.

Elias fixes him with the best expectant expression he can muster, awaiting the usual post-mission debrief. They ought to hold with routine, despite the obvious success of this particular operation.

The bag Anthony dumps on the table between them contains neither money nor diamonds.

“I thought since our dinner date was interrupted, I’d bring dessert,” Anthony says, scarcely hiding a grin.

Elias levels him with a look. “I did have other plans for afters.”

He watches the line of Anthony’s throat work as he swallows, barely suppressing a smirk of his own.

The debrief is given in record time.

* * *

They end up in bed shortly after, to neither of their surprise. They have been together in far stranger places than this.

“You could have died,” Elias says tightly, working his way across every inch of Anthony’s chest, scarred hands on scarred skin.

It is easier to veil his anger now that he can feel Anthony’s heart beating under his palm, strong and reassuring. With time, he will be able to leave it locked safely in the deep, dark part of him that he never allows to see the light.

Anthony’s hand covers his, pressing it harder into his sternum so it is impossible to tell their heartbeats apart. It feels as though Anthony’s blood could be rushing in Elias’s own veins.

“So could you,” Anthony murmurs. He glances down at his chest almost dispassionately, as though it is of no importance to him to see the permanent proof of how close he came to dying. “No, my only regret is not being there to protect you.”

Elias knows that there are no words he can say to soothe Anthony’s guilt over this particular matter, despite the readiness with which Elias would give his absolution should he wish for it.

Anthony has saved his life many times over the years, and Elias knows that despite the battles and the countless injuries, Anthony is just grateful to be there. He has told him so, explicitly, determinedly, on more than one occasion—that he is relieved to know that he can lay down his life for Elias, if it comes to it.

A cruel blow, then, that the closest Anthony came to dying was not through sacrificing himself to protect Elias, but gunned down in the street like a common criminal, for no further purpose than to ease the way to him.

Anthony soothes a thumb across Elias’s knuckles, choking the bright burn of anger before he even realises it has risen within him. He unclenches his fist slowly, aching with the knowledge that Anthony would welcome his anger more than his forgiveness.

“Earlier, with Carter, I should have understood,” he says instead. He has made it his business never to apologise, but it is the only thing he can offer now.

“No,” Anthony says, cutting him off gently, “you were right to be worried. I know you’d never say it, but I _should_ have been there, not Carter. I was pissed about that for a long time. You weren’t to know how I might react.” He huffs sharply, a harsh breath that cannot quite be mistaken for a laugh.

Elias cannot dispute the words, and Anthony knows it—knows that Elias has no option but to allow him to lay the blame at his own feet, no matter how willing he is to accept it.

“You know, I didn’t even know what had happened for about a week after I regained consciousness?” Anthony continues bitterly. “Someone tried to tell me, apparently, but I was too drugged to take it in. And as soon as I did find out, your Detective Carter was there, stopping me from just pulling all those fucking needles out of me and tearing the city apart. Telling me that you were _safe_.” He wraps his fingers under Elias’s hand, turning it into a clasp. “I only stayed away so long cause she swore she wouldn’t tell me where you were unless I waited to be discharged properly. She seemed to think you wouldn’t forgive her otherwise.”

“I wouldn’t,” Elias agrees. He can barely forgive himself.

But they are alone at last, now that the dinner and the last-minute operation and the debrief are behind them, and he owes it to Anthony to lay that burden to rest, here under the cover of near-darkness, in the warmth of an embrace he thought he might never feel again.

He cannot guarantee that Anthony will always be safe—they both know the risks of this particular game, and Anthony will always be the piece with the highest value to their opponents. His greatest weakness. But there is one vow he can make, and will endeavour for it to remain unbroken as long as he is able.

“I will do better to protect you,” he says, and Anthony’s expression suggests he is willing to believe it, at least for tonight. “As I know you’ll protect me, until the day comes when we can do so no longer. And as long as good fortune allows, when that day comes, we’ll face it together.”

Elias has always had people there to protect him—Anthony, then John, and now Carter. When Anthony had been gunned down, he was alone.

To be together at the end is the best they can hope for.

**Author's Note:**

> The closer I get to rewatching 'The Devil You Know' the less prepared I am. See you on the flip side.


End file.
